


A Kiss in the Dreamhouse

by Kylenne



Series: This Warden's Work [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Heavy Angst, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 02:19:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kylenne/pseuds/Kylenne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Gisele Surana, the crossroads of desire and pragmatism are a place full of peril, and the choice between following her head or her heart is the most difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kiss in the Dreamhouse

Weisshaupt Fortress towered into the steely grey skies, its dark and foreboding form reaching into the very clouds, As Gisele strode triumphantly across its outer courtyard, however, there was neither fear nor compunction within her. For there before her stood Duncan, his dark Rivaini eyes glimmering with pride in his greatest protegé.

She tasted the still air, felt a hint of cold upon her lips, but one without moisture or substance. It was not the bitterness of a brutal Anderfels winter, a cold that chilled one to the bones; rather, it seemed an altogether different sort…one that brushed against her soul instead of her body. This struck her as peculiar for a moment, but Duncan’s broad smile was enough to dispel the faint sense of oddity. She returned his smile with a bashful one of her own, lowering her eyes as she felt warmth rush into her cheeks.

“We’ve done it, Gisele,” Duncan said, beckoning her to him. “It’s still a bit difficult to believe, but the Blight is truly over. The darkspawn have retreated to the Deep Roads—what few remain after that onslaught. Truly, it was a battle for the ages. And we could not have done it without you. Your magic made all the difference.”

Still greater warmth filled her at Duncan’s compliment, though she was in truth a bit baffled. Try though she might, she couldn’t remember the fall of the Archdemon. She recalled nightfall, a sky pierced with arrows, the flames of burning pitch putrid and hot…but no dragon. “Are you certain?” Gisele asked as she walked to his side.

“Of course. Many would have fallen that didn’t because of your healing arts. And those storms you conjured! Maker’s breath, I’ve never seen their like. You’re gifted beyond measure, girl,” Duncan said, smiling at her yet again. Gisele felt as though her heart would leap out of her chest, even as doubt gnawed at the back of her mind. “Now then,” he continued, offering her his arm. “Shall we go? The First Warden is anxious to hear the account of our victory first hand.”

Gisele smiled, shyly taking his arm, and together they walked along the great span to the fortress’ inner gate. There was a terrible sense of familiarity about the bridge they crossed, about the towering gates of the fortress flung open to welcome the victorious Wardens home. Gisele felt as though she’d walked a span like this before, had seen these parapets, and before long she found herself hesitating as she examined the stone walls, her head tilted in curiosity.

The Great Hall was awash in a sea of blue and silver when they entered, and the roar of welcome was deafening. It seemed as though every Grey Warden in Thedas was in that massive hall, cheering and raising their goblets in salute. Gisele reflexively gave a deep curtsey out of nervous habit, remembering what Irving taught her, but Duncan bid her to rise. “They wish to fete the great heroine of the order,” Duncan said, chidingly. “Will you not allow them the chance to do so?”

Gisele smiled at him, her cheeks red; they took their place at the First Warden’s right hand, at the longest table raised upon a dais. He was a grim fellow, and taciturn, but Gisele could not quite describe his features beyond that…there was a curious vagueness about them. Duncan smiled reassuringly at her, however, and she relaxed, once more casting aside the strangeness she sensed.

The feast was truly one for the ages: succulent wild boar, tender and juicy, enormous slabs of meat swimming in gravy; savory fowl seasoned with exotic spices she’d only ever read about in the Circle; a veritable palace garden’s worth of roasted vegetables; warm crusty bread dipped in the sweetest creamed butter…there seemed no end in sight to the platters. It was joyous, this scene, but yet somehow surreal. Gisele felt an odd sense of detachment as she ate and made polite conversation.

But then Duncan’s hand brushed against hers, when they both reached for the same pitcher of icy mountain water, and Gisele’s olive skin grew flushed with warmth. Goosebumps prickled along her arms at his touch, and time seemed to stand still; the din of the festhall dwindled to a distant murmur. For just a moment he glanced at her, dark eyes smoldering with an unspoken question—but it was over just as soon as it began, and Gisele realized she’d been holding her breath.

“Forgive me, brethren, but it has been a long day’s journey,” Gisele said, feeling a bit lightheaded. “I would excuse myself, and perhaps retire for the evening.”

The others murmured, barely looking up from their overflowing plates. Duncan, however, stared meaningfully at her. “Will you walk a moment with me, sister?” he asked. “I’m tired as well, but I thought we might get the chance to talk. We’ve had so little time to since the battle. Perhaps I can show you to your chambers?”

Gisele’s heart was racing. She had to take a breath to steady herself for a moment, and then she nodded with a dimpled smile. He extended her a hand, helping her from the bench, and she followed him at a leisurely pace as he exited the festhall.

The odd sense of familiarity returned to her then, as they traversed the sprawling halls of Weisshaupt. Fereldan tapestries hung from the walls, depicting scenes of Mabari hounds at war—passing strange, for an Ander fortress. Despite the gently falling snow visible through the high windows, it was warm within these stone walls…there was no hint of the cold of the courtyard. Shadows flickered at the corner of her eyes, dancing in the lamplight, but she could not make out what cast them even as she glanced to and fro. Duncan’s footsteps were light and made no sound upon the stone as they walked together.

This hall was round, and they were spiraling—up stairs, through massive doors carved with ancient sigils, past walls lined floor to ceiling with musty tomes and scrolls. Round and round they went, up ever higher, and Gisele realized where she had seen all this before. The short hairs on back of her neck stood stiff on end.

For one who seemingly wanted to talk, Duncan was oddly silent during their walk. When they reached a chamber at the end of the hall, he stopped, finally turning to consider her with a stern and appraising gaze, as he had so many times before Ostagar.

Ostagar.

The word echoed throughout Gisele’s consciousness like a loud clap of thunder, and she felt herself growing lightheaded once more. She took a deep breath and shut her eyes. The feelings of unease she’d had since reaching Weisshaupt rose again within her, stronger than before. This was all too strange, too unreal. Her instincts were screaming at her.

“Duncan,” she breathed, as she opened her eyes, and that same smoldering gaze fell upon her.

“I am here,” he said reassuringly, with some faint measure of insistence. He gently took her small hands into his own, grasping them tightly. She was trembling somewhat in his grasp, and his heart was in his voice when he continued. “I’ve never been so proud as to fight at your side. You’ve done the Circle and this order proud. You’ve done me proud.”

“You flatter me, messere,” Gisele replied softly, even as the shadow of dread crept around the edges of her mind. She turned her inner gaze from it, then, deliberately, choosing to focus instead on the sensation of Duncan’s warmth on her hands, and the great affection in his eyes. “I only did what I was taught. By the Circle, and by you.”

“Gisele, you’ve quickened these old bones,” Duncan sighed with content. “You’ve awakened feelings in me I thought I’d long buried under the burden of duty and sacrifice. I didn’t wish to be forward, or inappropriate, but now that we’ve achieved peace…I find that I no longer wish to bury them.” He smiled, and Maker but he was handsome when he did. Gisele had never seen him smile so much as with her, this night. “Perhaps I’m just an old fool, and forgive me for being bold, but I wish to savor this peace with you, if you would have it so.”

Even as he asked the question, the shadow lurking at the edges of her mind loomed and threatened to consume her. Her heart was pounding in her chest, echoing in the vaults of her troubled mind. A thousand oddities, and yet a thousand more suspicions raced through it, punctuated by that staccato rhythm. All of her years of training and all of her instincts honed through years of practice and study recoiled from this…all of this. But before she was a harrowed mage, Gisele Surana was a young woman full of desire and yearning.

Perhaps just this once in such a place, with eyes open and fully aware, she would follow her heart but for a moment. But for a moment of selfish happiness. Duncan stood before her, impossible and aching for her, and Gisele chose love over fear, if only for a moment, this moment, with the man she adored, for whom the passionate fires within her burned so brightly and so fervently.

For one moment, tonight, she would know peace in his arms, even were it a false one. And then…come what may.

“You should have been this bold sooner, messere,” Gisele said, coyly fluttering her long lashes at him. Her resolve strengthened, her will determined, she relaxed and was every ounce the flirtatious siren of the Circle Tower again, as though he were just another apprentice who’d caught her eye. She smiled impishly at him and slipped her hands out from his, reaching up to wrap her slender arms about his neck. “We’ve more things to be savored than mere peace.”

When she leaned into him, pressing her body tightly against him, she felt him stirring against her in a flush of warmth. He hunched a bit, and took her into an embrace so powerful it threatened to crush her. When his tongue hungrily parted her lips and slipped into her waiting mouth it was as though a dam had burst within him, the floodgates of desire flung open, and she was drowning in the torrent. She clung to him, her own hunger every bit as urgent and powerful as she returned the kiss, and they stopped only briefly enough to catch their breath.

What followed was a blur, a flurry of fluid movement: Duncan effortlessly lifting her into his strong arms, carrying her into the chamber, setting her down gently upon the enormous bed. Her hands were shaking as she unlaced the bodice of her robe, and she barely shrugged it off before he was upon her, clad only in his smallclothes, and hungrily showering her lips and neck with kisses.

Duncan’s hands were strong and calloused from years of toil and struggle, but upon Gisele’s body they were gentle and patient despite the depth of his yearning. They were not the fumbling hands of one of her fellow apprentices, overeager with youth and inexperience, no; they were steady and practiced as they meandered over and caressed her soft body, his thick lips following in a shower of kisses upon her tawny skin. She squirmed beneath him with gentle sighs of pleasure as her paid extra attention to her breasts, full and aching; with firm hands he squeezed them, pinching and caressing her large brown nipples until they hardened with his touch, suckling and teasing them with his tongue. Not a single inch of her body went unloved and without the affection of his hands and mouth, and she writhed beneath his touch, aching and yearning as she never had in her life. She spread her legs wide, inviting him with a lust-filled stare, and he glanced up to meet it with one equally burning.

Her back arched up from the bed, a moan of delirious pleasure escaping her lips when the trail of kisses reached the cauldron of heat between her thighs and his tongue slid slowly across her swollen sex in a firm and languorous motion. Duncan thrust his hands beneath her, setting her legs to rest upon his shoulders, then buried his face between them. He hungrily lapped up her wetness, spreading her nether lips to stroke her with his finger, skillfully probing her depths to caress her inner warmth. He pleasured her with lips and tongue so skilled her eyes rolled back into her head and all she could do was moan incoherently with bliss. Around and again he swirled across her slick and swollen flesh, hot friction rubbing against her clit over and over, the tension mounting as her hips raised up to meet his eager mouth. At last it was too much, when his finger hooked inside her to find the most tender of places, and his tongue rolled firmly against her clit; she gave a wordless cry of ecstasy as waves of pleasure rushed over her body.

Before she could catch a moment’s breath, however, Duncan rose up with her legs still flung over his shoulders, and bore down upon her to smother her with another deep and passionate kiss, her knees pressed nearly against her ears as he embraced her. The taste of her own wetness was like sweet nectar upon his lips, and it drove her mad with want. Her hands reached up to loose his thick black hair from its customary tail, and she ran her fingers through it as he kissed her. She felt his phallus rubbing against her, thick and hard and hot to the touch, and his eyes were burning with desire as he stared at her.

“Please,” Gisele whispered, and her soft flesh yielded to him as he eased inside her at an agonizing pace. When he was sheathed to the hilt within her, he slid out and began to thrust, his hips jerking. She could only cling to him, flotsam caught in his tide, as he rode her hard and grindingly slow. He plunged deep into her, again and again, his tongue gliding down her long, pointed ear. After a few blissful moments, he unfolded her, and she stretched out her legs. He pulled her onto his lap, then, cradling her in his powerfully muscled arms, kissing her neck and stroking her hair as he continued his rhythmic thrusting.

Their bodies entwined, delicious tension mounting in every muscle she possessed, Gisele was awash with delirious sensation as Duncan brought her over the precipice again and again. Her moans turned to cries muffled in his shoulder and she clung ever tighter to him, nails clawing into his back. She was lost in simple pleasure, and she wanted nothing else.

At last, Duncan cried out and climaxed inside her, hunching over with her tight in his grasp, panting into her ear. The moment seemed to last forever, but then his breathing slowed and grew even, and he kissed her gently, utterly spent. He held her in his arms that way, stroking her long white hair as it curled into ringlets, damp from their mingled sweat. It was an utterly wonderful feeling, one of warmth, love and intimacy, and Gisele savored it as much as she did the raw desire. He stretched out after a few moments, sprawling on the bed, and gently pulled her down alongside him. She nestled against him, her nose nuzzled in his neck, then stared up at him in utter adoration. It was more than she could have ever wanted in her wildest dreams, being with him like this.

More than she dreamed, and all too similar.

“Ask anything of me, and it will be yours, my love. I swear it,” Duncan said softly. “Everything your heart desires.” He caressed her pointed ear with a single finger. In the soft glow of the lamplight, his dark eyes glimmered with an onyx sheen, the golden loop in his ear gleamed, and his bronze skin glistened with the sweat of their lovemaking…and he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

Gisele’s heart was breaking, slowly and surely, shattering into a thousand tiny splinters as she beheld him, even as they lay warm and spent in each other’s arms. The dread returned, along with the shadows; shadows that flickered in the corner of her eyes as she gazed at him, her heart no longer able to bear the truth she’d knowingly suppressed for the sake of her own happiness. For perhaps the first time in her life, she bitterly cursed her cleverness, and her sensitivity to the ethereal. Mana flowed in her veins and her heart swelled with the power of Spirit; she’d been connected to this place before she’d even been born. No less than a Pride Demon had whispered seductively in her ears the night of her Harrowing, and she’d thoroughly rebuked it without a moment’s hesitation.

She had not been fooled then, and she wasn’t now. Gisele’s eyes were wide open, and if she were to admit it to herself, they had been since she set foot on that supposed bridge—one that had never heard tell of the Anderfels, but rather Ostagar. But if her heart had succumbed to a moment of weakness, if she’d indulged its very mortal longings, well—she was only mortal, after all, and well aware of her flaws. She could no longer afford such weakness, however, such idle fantasies, if she ever had been able. She knew this wasn’t real.

Oh, how she wished it were! That the lips that brushed her, the tongue that caressed her yielding flesh, the powerful arms that held her were all real. That they were his. But they weren’t. And it was time to end the charade.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, closing her eyes against the tears welling up in them, and to whom she was apologizing was not something entirely clear even to her.

“You should be,” a faintly echoing voice sighed in her ear, one now distinctly feminine and cloying. “I could have given you everything. You could have had anything you ever wanted. You could have had your beloved Commander of the Grey and known nothing but bliss for the rest of your mortal life…and beyond.”

“No,” Gisele said, a single choked syllable, her eyes still firmly shut. “He fell upon the field at Ostagar, betrayed with the rest of our brethren. You are not my lord commander Duncan, demon. You never will be.”

“I could be,” the voice caressed Gisele’s ears like silk, and she fought to suppress the ache within her. “I could have been, and I could still be, for you. You’ll never know pain. I could be yours, and when I am yours, you’ll never again know suffering. The Blight is so far from here, Grey Warden.”

“It would be a lie,” Gisele countered, her quivering voice at last finding some semblance of strength. “And I could not remain here and condemn my home to the cruelties of Annulment. I could not condemn my homeland and those I love to the horrors of the Blight.”

Hot breath trailed across Gisele’s neck; she squirmed, and her blood simultaneously quickened and went cold. “I could give you love, Gisele. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? Isn’t that what guides you? I could give you love beyond anything you could dream,” the demon whispered into her ear. Gisele’s breath hitched involuntarily as she felt the creature’s long, spindly fingers stroke teasingly between her thighs. Her body ached even as she cursed its reactions. “I could give you love enough to devour your sorrow, and pleasure enough to make you forget such horrors,” the demon purred.

Gisele closed her eyes, steeling herself against the demon’s seductive promises and infernal touch, and when she opened them once more, gazed coldly at it, unflinching. One hand grasped the creature’s probing hand in a vice grip, yanking it away from her yielding flesh, while the other hand slid down the demon’s violet skin until it rested upon her heart. “You know nothing of mortal love, demon,” Gisele said firmly. “And you know nothing of me. I could never know bliss while the world I love burns and those I love fight to save it, their lives in peril, without me to aid and protect them. Their suffering is my own. Their struggle is my own. It has always been thus, for me. And your empty world of illusion and honeyed words filled with lies will do nothing to change that.”

Her arms tingled with gathering power as Gisele drew upon the flows of energy within her and without. Frigid cold engulfed her as she quickly muttered the incantation and her eyes glowed white; within an instant, a sheer lance of ice formed in her grasp and plunged directly into the Desire Demon’s heart.

“Begone!” Gisele cried, twisting the ice. The creature screamed and convulsed for a moment, then went still. Her body dissolved into a plume of shadowy violet smoke that dissipated into air shimmering as if in the heat of a summer day. The world around Gisele shuddered and shifted as the illusion crumbled.

Gisele stood alone then, fully clad in her robes and staff once more. She stood not in a tower high in the snow-capped peaks of the Anderfels, but in a desolate dreamscape of gnarled branches and twisting brambles sprawled beneath a sky eerily painted in sickly shades of green and rust. All that remained was the silence, the suffocating stillness, and the salted sweetness upon her lips.

She fell to her knees and wept upon the cold, eldritch earth. She wept for all that could have been and never was, for her proud and beautiful Rivaini warrior, her beacon of strength and inspiration. Bitter tears fell, shed for the man who’d saved her and believed in her and opened the world to her with all its possibilities, its harshness and its promise. For calloused hands and tired muscles laced with scars, and dark eyes full of yearning and the pain of self-denial. For everything he was, and everything she felt for him.

When the fullest measure of weeping passed, she took long, deep breaths, steadying herself, gathering her composure and her wits. Gisele rose to her feet, standing as tall as her slight form would allow, and wiped the tears from her eyes and kohl-streaked cheeks. There would be time for tears, later. Time for mourning and heartache. But not just now.

Gisele gazed at the path before her, at the faintly glowing pedestal in the distance. She had to save Alistair and Leliana, and Senior Enchanter Wynne. Love would drive her and guide her to them, to break this curse, to end this nightmare once and for all. Gisele would save them—she would save all of them, as she could not save Duncan, and she would make him proud.


End file.
